


home is a person (and it's you)

by loadgalax



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anxiety Disorder, Canon Compliant, Coming Out, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:54:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21624109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loadgalax/pseuds/loadgalax
Summary: “I was worried you’d be scared, all alone.”Kenma blinked, then shook his head in disbelief, before pulling his blankets up to cover them both. Kuroo’s grin had faded now to a smaller, softer kind. He drew the blankets in closer and his arms in tighter until Kenma could hear the gentle lull of his heartbeat.Kuroo had kissed his forehead then, Kenma remembered. Then, just as quickly as that had come and gone, Kuroo had been asleep.(Or, a tale of Kuroo, Kenma, and how many times two friends can kiss before something clicks.)
Relationships: Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou
Comments: 14
Kudos: 338





	home is a person (and it's you)

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this in high school and i just graduated college so it has been sitting in my docs for approximately one billion years. with haikyuu s4 coming i figured i'd post it because i'd always liked it! i projected a lot of my high school experience onto them both in different ways so who knows! maybe it can resonate with someone else too. bon appetit kuroken nation, i love u

When Kenma was a child, Kuroo was his sanctuary. His garden, his rock, a pair of sturdy arms (or as sturdy as a child of eleven’s could be) keeping him safe, keeping him grounded, keeping the terrors of the world at bay.

In the gloomy months before spring became summer, the evenings were alight with brilliant flashes and shocks of thunder. Kenma would weep silently, hardly daring to make a noise for fear of being found out, for fear of his weakness suddenly shown for all to see.

One night, as he was curled beside his dresser, his head squeezed between his trembling knees, he heard a tap on glass. A fist knocked at the window just across the room, tanned with sun, falsely confident, soaking wet.

Kenma slowly unfolded, then crept on his hands and knees along the floor, hesitating only a moment before climbing onto his mattress and peering over the windowsill.

And there Kuroo was, grinning even as he trembled, only the flashes of distant lightning separating him from the liquid darkness of the storm.

Kenma stared, then unlatched the window. He pulled aside the screen. He took one breath, then clasped at the dripping hand before him, and hauled Kuroo through the opening.

They collapsed together on the sheets, the water from Kuroo’s clothes seeping into the fabric and the wind howling outside as more water fell over them through the window.

Neither spoke, as Kuroo giggled to hide his shivering and Kenma patted at his chilled skin in a bewildered haze.

At last, Kuroo took a breath, reaching his arms forward for warmth. “I was worried you’d be scared, all alone.”

Kenma blinked, then shook his head in disbelief, before pulling his blankets up to cover them both. Kuroo’s grin had faded now to a smaller, softer kind. He drew the blankets in closer and his arms in tighter until Kenma could hear the gentle lull of his heartbeat. 

Kuroo had kissed his forehead then, Kenma remembered. Then, just as quickly as that had come and gone, Kuroo had been asleep.

This night set a precedent for them, brought a new rule into their relationship. As the months dragged on, Kenma found himself pushed and pulled, shoved stumbling into waking nightmares, middle school hallways filled with good-natured but terrifying shouts and volleyball tournaments with deafening roars that blasted through Kenma’s head and left him in tears, clinging to whatever he could hold. And that’s when Kuroo would make good on his unspoken vow. He would be there, always, his chest a barrier and his arms a gate, to close around Kenma and lock the world away. 

It never happened in public, save for a few incidents where there was no other way, but even in the crowd, before they could find the privacy, Kuroo’s hand was always there on Kenma’s wrist, constant as the sunrise. 

The volleyball helped, Kenma admitted quietly to Kuroo one evening, while they lay curled around each other on Kuroo’s couch, the house empty save for the two of them. The game gave his searching eyes purpose, the erratic noises of the players hardened his skin. 

Kuroo had nodded, his smile betraying just the slightest hint of “I told you so,” and Kenma had knitted his brows and pressed his face into Kuroo’s shirt, annoyed. 

He learned that month that what the team was hardening within him, the rumors were shredding through like darts. 

Whispers. He heard them when Kuroo would take his hand for a moment outside his classroom. He heard them when he unthinkingly rested his head against Kuroo’s arm, when he reached out to tidy Kuroo’s bangs, a split-second of contact. Soon, he was hearing them when their eyes met for too long, when they walked together after class, when they so much as said each other’s names in a casual conversation. Kenma felt the words on his skin every day, itching and burning. The attention was the worst part, the rotten eyes lingering and the knowledge which smoked within him.

He understood, and it picked him apart at the seams, stitch by stitch. He wanted to shout, to hiss them away, there’s nothing for them to look at, nothing they should see -! 

But the hollowness in Kuroo’s smile stopped him. Kenma read people, and fear stood out the plainest. And why shouldn’t it, when Kenma himself knew it best? Kuroo was afraid, and something was eating him. Kenma hadn’t let himself feel hurt that Kuroo was keeping something from him, and if he did, he didn’t dare put that name to it. He knew it was something to do with those rotten eyes that followed him, Kuroo’s flinches, so subtle yet so clear in Kenma’s eyes, when his other friends would joke (kindly or maliciously) about the way he held Kenma’s hand. 

As if that was wrong. 

And it shook Kenma, shook him to the core, to even consider it. As the weeks pushed forward, though, Kuroo’s touches became rarer, and he handled Kenma gingerly, his expression tighter each day. His confidence was faltering, washed away by words when all the rain in the world hadn’t done a thing.

Then, one afternoon, they sat together on the uppermost step of Kenma’s porch, watching the street go past as the sun sank in the sky. Kenma’s eyes kept flicking back and forth between the hard line of Kuroo’s mouth, and the bloated egg yolk of the sun. It looked close to bursting, and so did Kuroo. 

“Kenma…” and Kenma looked up to Kuroo’s eyes. They were nervous. Kuroo breathed in the silence, then went on. “I… god Kenma- there’s no easy way to say this, we’ve known each other- you probably already know, the whole-” he put his finger to his temple, and breathed a swear in a whisper, “fucking school knows…” He was upset, and Kenma sat in shock at the sight of his wall crumbling when he had only guessed at the cracks. 

He reached out, tentatively, and laid a hand on Kuroo’s shoulder. Kuroo stiffened for a moment, then let out one shuddering sigh. “I’m gay, Kenma.”

The silence stretched between them.

“Oh.” Kenma’s not sure what to say, and he feels Kuroo’s eyes boring into him, increasingly desperate for a response.

After a moment, Kuroo splutters out, “Anything else?” When Kenma meets his eyes, they’re wide with... fear? Which causes Kenma to start, his hands gripping the strap of his bag on impulse. Kuroo blinks then sighs, his brows drawing together.

“I guess you did know, huh.”

Kenma fidgets, then exhales. “Hmm.” Kuroo doesn’t look up. “I guess... It wasn’t something I knew for certain, but it’s not really a surprise.”  
Now it’s Kuroo’s turn for an “Oh.” There’s a beat of stillness, then Kuroo stretches out his legs and arches his head back to get a better look at the sky. He sighs again. “Is it... weird?” His voice is quiet, almost monotone. “I mean, you hear the shit... other kids say. And now you can’t look at me and pretend... I’m not.”

It stings. It hurts like a cut, the nonchalance in Kuroo’s voice, the practiced grace of his movements.

He nails it in deeper.

“If you don’t want to hang out anymore, I’d get it.”

Kenma’s eyes are wide and his breath is hitching and Kuroo is just sitting there, watching the world go by like his words weren’t blows shaking Kenma to his core. And Kenma can’t find his voice, just stare. 

It’s so casual. And another moment passes.

Kuroo must have realized the silence was unnatural even for his friend, and he turns his head, then flinches. “I-” Kenma can see his outline through his blurred vision, and still he’s quiet, his lips parted and his mind stunningly blank, and his stomach feels like he went to take a step and found only empty space.

“Kenma, god I- are you okay-” Kuroo’s voice is closer now, and there are hands on Kenma’s shoulders, warm and strong even as they tremble. A single hot, wet droplet falls, then another, over Kenma’s skin. His eyes are burning and his mouth still isn’t moving and-

He’s suddenly engulfed. Kuroo’s arms tighten around him, and he’s whispering terrified apologies and reassurances and words are tumbling out of Kenma’s mouth too, in stilted fragments. “You mean... everything to...” and “I would never, I would never, I would never.”

They form a dizzying cycle which Kenma rides out with strangled sobs, and Kuroo is shuddering against his shoulder too, and it happened so fast. Something had broken in the air, but with the way Kuroo was holding him now, he felt it slowly pressing back together.

It takes some time for things to go back to normal after that. Kenma feels the newfound awkwardness like a weight, but he holds strong and extends his hand, because he knows Kuroo needs someone to make the reach for him. 

They talk.

It’s hard, sometimes. There’s sometimes a bitterness in Kuroo, a bite to his words, especially in regards to himself. Kenma feels them like scrapes against his skin, and like long-lasting bruises too, and he can’t help but wonder if any of his actions would have made Kuroo think this? Made him think Kenma would see him like this?

It’s hard to see where Kuroo’s sense of self ends and his sense of Kenma begins.

To Kenma, really, this seems too fast and hard and heavy for this kind of subject, but he also knows it means a lot to Kuroo. It means a lot to hear the senseless jokes his classmates make, and it means even more that Kenma sits by him everyday regardless.

“I don’t have a crush on you,” Kuroo reassures him, for the fourteenth time. To prove it, he starts talking about Wakamatsu, in Class B, who he definitely does. His words are hasty and his eyes bright and Kenma can’t help but feel out of place, even slightly, but he listens and nods, listens and nods.

For the fourteenth time, Kenma feels something he can’t quite explain.

Best friend.

Kenma curled his tongue around the phrase, working it until it was pliant and soft, but even then, it still seemed to him like a blanket that wouldn't cover him fully, or a game he finished but still felt incomplete. Best friend...

He wasn't in love with Kuroo. He couldn't be, couldn't be. He couldn't mirror the passion of the dramas he clicked past on TV, or feel the fireworks or whatever other internal pyrotechnics he heard girls gush about on the subway. Kuroo’s hand on his own didn't bring about sparks, just the deep, deep comfort of a puzzle piece you could never replace.

And yet, his life was one of little contradictions. He supposed Kuroo was to blame for that; as steady as he was, Kuroo always found little ways to surprise him. Sometimes like a whisper in cool air, and sometimes like a match igniting within him.

Kuroo had kissed him, once.

The moon had been three-quarters full and the air muggy with the feeling of summer. They had lain curled in each others arms, the clock ticking steadily beside them. Kuroo had sighed, and then, Kenma had felt his lips, so lightly and softly, on the very corner of his mouth. Kenma stiffened like an animal, and Kuroo had pulled away immediately, his eyes wider and more fearful than Kenma had ever seen.

It had been the most tender of any of his touches, and now the silence had threatened to swallow them whole.

Kenma had breathed out, quietly, then nuzzled back into Kuroo's embrace. He was sure Kuroo could feel his heartbeat slamming against his ribs, even through his unnecessary layers, but that unsteadiness just caused him to pull closer. He curled a shaky hand in Kuroo’s hair, then pressed his lips, careful but firm, against Kuroo's sharp jaw. A beat, and then he felt Kuroo soften with heaving, shuddering sigh. Kenma pulled him closer, then, to make sure his point was exceptionally clear, he kissed his cheek once more.

That night, actions had spoken louder than words, but even then, Kenma hadn't been sure what he meant. He knew, though, that he would let Kuroo kiss him again.

And he supposed, in later months, after four or five more careful kisses in the quiet and the dark, that maybe love couldn't be measured in sweeping metaphors and rushes of earth shattering intensity. He still felt safest in Kuroo's arms, still felt a rush when Kuroo would smile mere inches from his face. And he supposed, maybe the world was too vast for words to exist for every human experience.

Kuroo laid by his side, one day, watching lazily as Kenma flicked through the dialog boxes on his PSP. The screen flashed, and Kenma must have made some small noise of approval, because Kuroo asked:

"Romance flag?"

"Yeah."

Kuroo had rolled onto his back to stare at the ceiling. After a moment, he said, "Do you think we had a romance flag, somewhere?"

Time seemed to grind to a halt.

Kenma was silent for a second, before answering slowly, "I don't know." It felt like a cop-out, but at least it was honest.

"...a best pals flag, then?"

Kenma hesitated, then pressed pause and set the console aside. "...Would that be better, do you think?"

He felt Kuroo stiffen next to him. He turned to face him, and found Kuroo's eyes trained on his.

"What does that mean?"

He found himself wetting his lips. The air was still, and suddenly brittle, like everything could shatter.

"I don't know."

Kuroo exhaled quietly, and Kenma wished he knew what to say. He knew they had to talk about it, he knew they’ve needed to for years now, but the gap was still there, a complexity muddling what should be easy, a glitch in the system neither of them could account for. Kenma let out a breath, and tried anyway.

“I feel...” he began, his fingers nervously picking away at the seams on the bedspread. “Like... it's all lost on me, either way.”

It's purposely nonchalant, self-deprecating. Kenma hated it when Kuroo talked that way, but he realized now how effective it is, to bite before you're bitten. 

Kuroo pursed his lips but stayed silent, and Kenma took that as a cue to continue. “You always sound so  _ excited... _ about people. Like, love and sparks and... all that.” He inhaled sharply to steady his voice. “You deserve to feel that way about someone. And for them -  _ him -  _ to feel that way about you too.”

The look in Kuroo’s eyes broke him. Kuroo’s brows were knit, his hands clenched together, and his jaw stiff like words were locked inside of him. Kenma froze in the pain of his gaze. He hated crying,  _ hated  _ it, but he felt it bubbling up anyway, about to overflow.

“Kenma.”

Kuroo's hand inched forward, hesitating for a moment then latching onto his like a lifeline in a storm. 

The pause in the room was heavy, and Kenma took another breath.

He stopped again. His mouth was dry and his lips shook around the words he wanted to say. “I love...” He could't finish. No one breathed. Finally, he reworked it into something he could manage. “I don't want you to go.”

The meaning’s the same.

“I'm not going to, Kenma.” 

The words burned in his ears. He can't promise that, he can't when Kuroo's as warm as an ocean sunset and Kenma’s lost at sea, not when there's something better, someone better, there's got to be.

He didn't know he was crying until Kuroo's callused hands wiped across his cheeks. They're face to face now, Kenma realized. The memories of kisses in the dark came rushing in at full force, but this moment is more than that. Whatever he does next, it means more.

“I'm not going anywhere,” Kuroo said, firmly.

It's pure instinct to lean into his touch. Kenma’s eyes were closed and his breath was shaky and he was as vulnerable as that night in the rain, all those years ago.

“You can if you need to.” God, he wants to mean it.

“I won't,” Kuroo said, his voice raw. “I won't.”

Kenma's not sure who's weight gives out first, but they both crumbled back into the mattress, Kuroo’s arms locking around him, impenetrable.

Kuroo’s eyes were searching and Kenma felt his breath over his lips. And he thought, he’d rather just not think for a moment. They can talk it over later. 

He could feel Kuroo waiting though, for something, anything, confirmation or rejection. Kenma’s ears were burning and he'd never been here before, and never with someone who makes him feel like their every breath makes the earth turn. Words pooled on Kenma’s tongue. I need you, I want you here, I’ve never felt safer anywhere else. 

It came out as two desperate words.

“Please, Kuroo.”

And when he felt Kuroo’s lips on his, it was like coming home.


End file.
